


Black Light

by neontiger55



Category: White Collar
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Talented!Neal, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neontiger55/pseuds/neontiger55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logically, Peter knew Neal must possess a high level of skill to have pulled the extravagant heists he was suspected of carrying out. Seeing it in the flesh was something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Light

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ, April 2011.

  

Light was fading in the city and the streets were swathed in a cool, dusky blue that provided a deceptive contrast to the stifling heat and humidity that hung in the air. Deceptive too, of the pervading atmosphere. New York was alight with an air of anarchy, a mixture of excitement and anticipation that had been rippling through the boroughs since the blackout hit at dawn.

The beginning of August found the East coast in the grip of a record heatwave with temperatures staying above ninety degrees through the night and power outages reported as far as Baltimore and the suburban fringes of Washington. Cell service had gone down late in the afternoon and much of the transport system had been shut down, the sidewalks crowding with people. Kids had spent much of the day playing in water hydrants, shopkeepers barricaded their stores shut and most people hadn't ventured to work. At midday many restaurants had started cooking up all the food that was spoiling and, despite the visible presence of police and riot officers who had flooded the streets in large numbers to prevent looting, a festive mood was tangible in most places.

The sun was pouring the last of its blinding golden light across the tips of the tallest buildings, the horizon now stained with lurid streaks of red and yellow making Peter wish he hadn’t left his sunglasses at the office.

While for many the blackout had provided an unexpected 'snow day’, a chance to stay home and enjoy the unusual transformation of their city, for the FBI it had created a completely different playing field – one that considerably favoured those on the wrong side of the law. Although the sophisticated electronic security systems of banks, embassies and galleries had their own back-up supplies, the response time of the police was far longer than normal, stretched thin as they were, making an opportunistic hit a real threat – one that became a reality a little over seven hours ago.

A fence had gone on the run with a stolen microchip containing a series of highly sensitive security codes. It was information that was priceless in every sense of the word, potentially deadly in the wrong hands. The chaos had intensified the difficulty of the investigation, every step like wading through molasses. Mid-morning and Neal had disappeared into the maze of the overheated city, returning hours later with the names of the thieves and their known fence, seemingly before any information had traded hands. Mozzie had been able to intercept contact between the fence, Jon Mercer, and the buyer. With little preparation and even less back-up, Neal went in masquerading as the buyer’s representative.

They met beside a non-descript office building in the late afternoon, Neal looking infuriatingly cool and composed as he slipped out of the car and walked up 9th Avenue. Peter waited nervously with Jones and Diana, listening in but keeping their distance. Hughes and another team were positioned a few blocks to the south.

" _Price has gone up_ ," Mercer said by way of greeting. 

" _We had_ _a deal_ ," Neal said, sounding suitably put out.

" _Value has gone up_ ," Mercer replied flatly.   

" _Okay, okay_ ," Neal said, irritated. There was a rustling - Neal searching his pocket for the payment information - but just then the siren of an emergency vehicle sounded somewhere in the background. Movement, then Neal let out a surprised shout. There was a jarring thump as his microphone connected with something solid, then only static flare.

Peter gave the signal and Diana floored it, tires screeching on the bone dry asphalt. They ran a red light and rounded the corner of the intersection to find the spot where Neal and Mercer had met was completely deserted. They stepped out of the car and briefly searched the area, but found nothing. 

Jones holstered his gun. "The siren must have spooked him."

Peter nodded as he did the same, a familiar sinking feeling settling in his stomach; Neal must have given chase and that didn't bode well. “Let’s criss-cross the streets and avenues,” he said as they climbed back into the car. "Radio the other teams."

They drove in silence, eyes scanning the sidewalks and side streets. The city was far less crowded now, people finally retreating inside from the heat and smog, allowing them a clearer view.

Then Neal’s breathless voice came through the mic in a burst of white noise, “ -  _and west forty-ninth_.”

“At least it narrows it down,” Diana said, executing a violent u-turn to double back on themselves. They booked it down the avenue, lights flashing, and as they were slowing to cross another red, Jones caught sight of Neal tearing down the street in the opposite direction. He was close on Mercer’s heels as they both disappeared down a side street, pushing past a crowd of bemused tourists.

They caught up with them somewhere between the back of a restaurant and the entrance to a club, and ditched the car to give chase. Neal was still some way ahead of them, and Mercer even further. Somewhere to Peter’s right he could hear Diana radioing in their position.

Under pressure, Mercer started to climb a high security wall of an office building above which he could just reach the end of the fire escape ladders. Peter shouldn’t have really been surprised at the ease at which Neal followed him, scaling the smooth wall with practiced ease and soon disappearing up onto the roof and out of sight.

“Here!”

Peter pulled up short, turning to see Jones gesturing back towards the avenue.

“There's an entrance this side.”

They entered the building where a bemused security guard gave them access to the stairwell. Five floors later they emerged from a dank corridor into the still brilliant sunlight, their eyes adjusting just in time to see Neal vault a partitioning wall at the far end.

“Jones, call Hughes. They’ll probably make street level on the north side,” Peter said as they made their way across the roof. The day’s heat seemed to have been trapped in every surface, the copper sheeting and concrete still almost scalding hot to the touch. Sweat was beading on Peter's forehead and his shirt was plastered to his skin.  Jones and Diana were breathing heavily beside him; how Neal was feeling, Peter could only guess. They clambered over the partition and caught sight of Neal again, still running flat out across the sprawling network of rooftops. 

Mercer reached a gap between the buildings and kept going, jumping across to the adjacent rooftop and Peter’s stomach dropped as Neal followed without hesitation. The gap may not have been huge, a metre at the most, but they were high up enough to know the fall would be fatal. Mercer was growing visibly desperate, taking greater and greater risks to try and drop down to street level before he was cornered at the far north end where the tightly packed string of buildings gave way to a wide avenue.  

Clearly not unfamiliar with the odd rooftop escape himself, Neal stayed on his tail, sometimes only an excruciatingly small distance behind. Peter and the team could only follow so far before they were soon forced to simply watch Neal as he continued to pursue Mercer across the apartment buildings, trying to anticipate the best place for the other teams to try and head him off. Although, logically, Peter knew must Neal possess a high level of skill to have pulled off the extravagant heists of which he was suspected, seeing him in action was something else entirely; he was as graceful as Peter would have expected, but clearly incredibly strong and fit, able to support his entire body weight by his arms or manoeuvre over and around obstacles without breaking his stride. Peter remembered watching something on the Sports Channel with El about parkour and what Neal was able to do was not dissimilar.

A wail of sirens sounded on the street directly below and Peter wasn’t sure if was their back-up or not, but it provoked Mercer into taking an extremely risky jump across a large gap, down onto another building. He barely made it, hitting the edge of the walling and rolling awkwardly on the landing. Dust and gravel fell soundlessly, disappearing into the air. Peter watched as Neal slowed momentarily, eying up the distance, but before Peter could yell, tell him _don't_ , Neal took a steadying breath and jumped.

“ _Jesus_.”

Peter didn’t know if it was Diana or Jones who cursed as Neal launched himself off the edge because his heart was in his throat and all the blood was rushing through his ears. Everything dropped into slow motion and for one terrifying moment Peter thought Neal had misjudged the distance, his momentum, the shape of his body seeming impossibly wrong for the length of the gap. It must have been a trick of the angle though because in the next breath Neal landed safely, stumbling into Mercer and sending them both flying. Mercer, who was shorter than Neal but stockier in build, came up swinging. Neal ducked a hit before landing one of his own, but the fence's next swing connected, catching Neal hard in the face.

“We’ve got to go back down and access that complex from the street,” Peter said, already moving. His mouth was dry, heart still pounding wildly. They backtracked, and it took both Peter and Jones to kick down a rusty fire ladder. Peter just hoped Neal could hold out until they could reach him.

 

*

 

Backed up by the other team, Peter, Jones and Diana charged up to the roof and burst out through the door, shouting, guns raised.

They found Neal pinning Mercer down, twisting his arm behind his back to restrain him. It was clearly taking all of Neal’s weight to hold him and Peter could see Neal’s arms shaking with the effort.  Agents swarmed out and relieved Neal of his prisoner, Mercer soon disappearing in the crowd. Neal stepped away from the fracas, looking unsteady. He put his arm out like he was going to brace himself against the wall, but his legs seemed to fold under him and he slowly wilted to the ground.

“ _Neal_.”

Neal looked up as Peter jogged over to him and somehow rallied an exhausted smile. Peter could see he already had an impressive black eye forming. “Peter! Nice of you to drop in,” he said, though the lightness of his words didn't quite reach his voice.

“Yeah, well, we were just in the neighbourhood,” Peter replied, kneeling down in front of him. “You all right?”

Neal waved him off. “Fine, fine, though I really think the good people of New York should consider a little rooftop maintenance once in a while.”

Peter put two fingers under Neal's chin and gently tilted his face to get a better look at his eye. His skin was warm but not frighteningly so. “A potted plant here, a gazebo there?”

“That would really bring this space together,” Neal said, pulling himself free of Peter's hold.

"You need a medic?" 

"I'm good," he said, with a dismissive wave. His eyes were focused and clear and he was sweating heavily, which if Peter remembered his first aid training correctly was a good sign.

They fell silent, catching their breath for a moment. It was then that Peter was suddenly aware of the sounds of the city again; music and laughter from an impromptu block party drifted over from the next street and somewhere a door slammed followed by the unmistakable sound of a skateboard rolling over asphalt.

Jones and Diana walked over holding bottles of water they'd magicked up from somewhere and Peter and Neal took them gratefully. Neal sunk a whole bottle in minutes before quickly starting on another.

“Hughes and his team are taking Mercer back to the bureau. They found the microchip in his shoe.” Jones said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Peter huffed. “It’s a classic."

“You want us to bring the car around so that twinkle toes here can rest his feet?” Diana said, though her words didn't hold any bite. She could see just as well as the rest of them that Neal, who was still sitting on the ground holding himself stiffly, was completely spent.

Peter nodded and turned back to Neal as she and Jones left.  “Here,” he held out the rest of his water to Neal. For a moment, Peter thought he was going to object but after a brief hesitation Neal took the bottle with a nod of thanks. As he reached up, Peter could see Neal’s knuckles were bruised and swollen, the skin on his palms badly torn. “Yeah, you're going to Urgent Care.”

“What? No, Peter. I’m fine - "

"No arguing." Peter reached down and offered Neal a hand expectantly. 

Neal sighed and reached up, clearly too tired to argue.

Peter pulled him up onto wobbly legs and steadied him by his elbow as they made their way to the stairs. “Let's just take it slow. No more gymnastics for you."

 

*

 

Late that evening Hughes led the debriefing in a conference room lit dimly by the emergency back up lights. The city spread out below them was virtually one black mass with only the occasional flash of an emergency vehicle interrupting it. For the first time, Peter could see stars in the New York sky.

Neal sat at the far end of the table, his profile partially silhouetted in the gloomy light.  He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on the conference table while holding an ice pack to his right eye. A couple of empty sports drink bottles lay discarded in front of him. Both of his hands were heavily wrapped in gauze but Peter could see little spots of red already creeping through. Their trip to Urgent Care had been quicker than expected, Neal having been seen and treated within a couple of hours. His body temperature had been normal, but he was still given a small bag of saline intravenously for the dehydration.

Peter turned his attention back to Hughes, who thankfully seemed to be wrapping up the meeting.

“That was good work everyone. Go, enjoy the weekend,” he said, before turning to Neal. “You too, Caffrey. Very well done. And get some rest, you look like hell."

“Our Hughes, such a wordsmith,” Neal said, once he was safely out of earshot.

"From him, that was practically a serenade,” Peter laughed. By now most of the other agents had filed out of the room, leaving him with Diana, Jones and Neal.

“I've gotta say, that was a damn impressive chase, Caffrey,” Jones said, perching on the corner of the table. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Somehow Neal managed to flash a blinding grin from under the icepack, giving him the distinct look of a kid after a schoolyard scrap. “Oh, just out and about.” He leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. “There was this one time in Macau when I needed to, uh – " Neal trailed off, realising he suddenly had the full attention of three FBI agents.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” Peter said, not quite able to keep the smile out of his voice.

Neal nodded gratefully and lifted the icepack to reveal a blossoming bruise across his cheekbone. There was a small, bloody cut just underneath his eye, perhaps caused by a nail or the edge of a ring. “So - how does it look?”

“Um, yeah, I would keep that on for a bit longer,” Diana said with a wince, much to Neal’s disappointment. 

"I think it's time to get you h - " Peter started, when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the lights as they started to flicker on across the city. Block after block, New York slowly came back to life around them. “Hallelujah! Sanity is restored.” Peter threw his hands up in thanks, before turning to gather up the last of the files.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of fun when everything changes for a while. None of the normal rules apply.”

Peter turned back to look at Neal whose gaze was still fixed on the inky horizon. “Yeah, you’ve definitely been in the sun too long.”

“Ha ha. It's nothing a shot or two of vodka and a cold bath won’t fix,” he said, slowly getting to his feet.

“No,” Peter jabbed a finger in Neal's shoulder. “It’s juice, water and ice for you.”

“Vodka Orange. Got it.”

“Neal.”

“Vodka cocktail?” Neal asked innocently. “I like the way you think, Peter.”

As they piled into the elevator to head back out into the humid night air, Peter caught their reflection in the mirrored panel and suddenly found himself unable to contain his laughter, earning him bemused looks from the others. They were all utterly disheveled and dirty, ties loosened, shirts crumpled, pants laddered and stained. They were quite a sight, not to mention Neal, who despite looking like he had gone six rounds with Mohammed Ali on the surface of the sun had placed his immaculate fedora smartly on his head.

Thank God the power was back on, Peter thought, as he strode out of the elevator still laughing; he had enough madness in his life to deal with without the entire city turning against him as well.

 

 

 

 

* 

_End._

 


End file.
